


Once Upon a Time

by PFT221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFT221B/pseuds/PFT221B
Summary: They were two boys, two men. And they were always together. Maybe not always, but the older always cared for the younger. Best friends? No. Brothers? Yes. They were brothers until the very end.





	

Once upon a time there was a boy. He was single child until the age of seven. He had red hair and freckles and a love for food. He loved to fence, and was quite happy being the only child.

Then his brother was born. His whole world seemed to change. First he was suddenly having to share his mother and father's attention with someone else. Then they announced it would be his duty to take care of the boy they called his little brother. And take care he did. He was always there by his side.

The little boy turned eight in June, and that August started primary school. He was very upset for about the first two weeks. When asked why, he told everyone that there was no one to take care of little brother. His parents reinsured him, telling him to go and learn new things. He was reluctant at first, but he soon learned it was smarter to listen than to argue.

He did well in school. So well they aloud him to skip three grades. While he was picked on and teased constantly by his schoolmates, he never let this change the fact that he had a baby brother to take care of.

A few months after his brother turned one, his parents had another baby. This time a sister, a little girl who he could tell was different from the start. But he loved her like his brother. 

Years passed. His brother was now five. His sister was four. He was twelve. His brother loved to play pirates and sometimes he joined in. But it mainly him and his best friend Victor. Secretly he was jealous. How had his younger sibling gotten a best friend, and yet he couldn't. But then again, he was supposed to be in his last year of primary school, not his first of high school. He was different. And looking at his siblings, he could tell they were different too. At some point, they would have the same problem.

Then Victor went missing. It broke his brother's heart, he searched for days and days. No one could find his brother's best friend. His sister had done something to him, he just hadn't figured out what yet. She started a fire, and was taken away. His uncle was dealing with her. That hadn't heard from her in months. His brother didn't even realize she was gone. Victor became Redbeard, not a person, but a dog. The young boy watched as his brother became more and more insecure and reluctant to listen.

Three short years later, he was starting primary school, already four grades ahead. He was picked on, pushed around, and hurt worse than his older brother. But true to his word, his brother was careful to protect his brother. Any one who even dared to touch him, didn't make it out without some sort of hurt. Sometimes verbal, sometimes physical. 

A year later, the older brother was eagerly accepted into a university. He was excited to go, excited to maybe learn something new. His brother was not. At first he clung to him, not letting him go anywhere without him. And then slowly he drifted away. His older brother started to see less, and less of him until the day he left. He had a suitcase in each hand and was headed down a hallway when he saw his brother standing there, tears rolling down his face. He put the suitcases on the ground and squated down, holding his arms out. His brother ran into them, embracing his brother one last time.

He came home at Christmas, and he had changed. Both brothers had. The oldest was colder, not as careless as he had been when he left. The younger had no emotions. He didn't cling to his brother like he used to. He was small and frail, and looked like the child who was used as a punching bag daily at school. It angered his brother, but he couldn't get his brother to tell him anything.

After Christmas, neither brother saw each other for two years and a half years. The only reason the oldest came back was because he had been informed that his parents were fighting. Last time he laid eyes on his younger brother he had been nine. Now twelve, he was quite strong and loved solving puzzles and problems. Emotions were not something seen from him often, and he seemed unaffected by the round the clock fighting. His older brother looked on, retaining his heartless self, while secretly his heart cracked.

After helping with the peoblem with his parents, he had no contact with his brother until he was twenty-two. Somehow, his brother had gotten himself high, and overdosed. His sources told him he was in a bad position. Even though he hadn't seen his brother for ten years, he was still willing to go to extreme lengths for him.

A consulting detective. How in the world had his brother gotten himself into detective work? Last time he had checked, his dream was to be  
a pirate. They still didn't talk much, but the older brother kept a close eye on him. Using his high up position to keep him safe. Technically it would've been seen as a conflict in interest, but he was so young and good at his job, no one had the guts, or the rank other than five people, to fire him about it. 

The drug use continued and the older brother watched with sad eyes, as his brother moved from place to place barely able to make a living. He visited him from time to time, often to help keep him safe when he overdosed.

A new person came into the picture. A retired army doctor, with a limp and a shaking wrist. The limp was all in his head, and he was not haunted by the war. In fact he missed it. At first the eldest brother was suspicious, not trusting this man who had grown close to his brother. Since Victor's death, he had been so withdrawn that he was the only one who could even begin to comfort him.

But the doctor. The doctor got close, helped with cases, kept his brother out of harm's way, hid the drugs and cigarettes, and was just a friend to him. He was alway there. He had known him for a single day and he already shot someone for his brother. For that they is no punishment.

The fall. Moriaty. A fake suicide. He had helped plan it, making sure every option was completely covered. He and his brother wanted to avoid death if at all possible. As it turned out, Moriaty wanted his little brother to jump. That was the riskiest plan of them all. But they managed and he survived.

It destroyed his brother's friend's life. He was so depressed, so empty and sad. He visited the fake grave day after day, begging for him to come back. The older brother watched carefully, never letting any harm come to him, while watching over his little brother, like he promised to do so many years ago.

Slowly his brother disassembled Moriaty's branches of evil. And slowly his friend found a special lady. Eventually his little brother was ready to come home. And so his brother did the only thing he could. Work into their ranks and rescue him. He was in bad shape. Thin, bloody, curly hair grown down to his shoulder blades.

He took care of his brother, placing him back in London, trying to warn him that his only friend might've moved on. Sadly, he did not heed his warning. At first his little brother got used to being alone, not having anyone to be his friend. But then he got lonely, turning back to drugs. It was then that he stepped in, doing his best to get his brother back on his feet. It worked at first.

After the wedding, after the shot Mary gave him and then took for him, after his 'friend' beated him up, after Euros tried to kill them all, after everything, his little brother was hurt, scarred, not really loved or liked. He seemed happy, he seemed okay, but he wasn't. He was depressed. He was scared. He didn't really want to live anymore.

That's when his older brother needed to be there most. When he needed to be able to lean on someone who was strong, sturdy, in moving. And he allowed his little brother to do that. He was there whenever his brother called, tested, or even randomly showed up.

Now he was dying. A gunshot to the left shoulder. He had took it for his little brother. His brother had used his gun and emptied the magazine onto the three men who had fired at him and his brother. He killed two, and put a bullet through one's arm. After he ran him off, he dropped to his knees, holding his brother in his arms. He heard the broken voice asking for someone to send an ambulance. Then there was nothing, but the sound of his sobs. Whispers of soft, pointless words uttered in his ear, begging him not to leave. Begging him to not do this to him again. 

The older brother tried, frail and tired. He heard sirens, he heard sobs, he heard the beating heart of his little brother as he held him close. He closed his eyes and muttered the last words he'd ever say.

"I love you, brother mine."

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who may have been a man, but who had just lost everything he held dear.

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm... Hi. I have no clue where this came from. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Best Regards,  
> PFT221B


End file.
